


Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by FalseProphet (Batmanthegroomer)



Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004), Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Will is much more like Will, Will/Tristan in a way, but Hannibal is definitely more like Tristan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6601159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batmanthegroomer/pseuds/FalseProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hannibal/King Arthur AU based upon LadyHawke and <a href="http://falseprophet.tumblr.com/post/143029440008/justsimplymeagain-hanni-bunny-lecter"> this post </a></p><p>King Gawain runs a small kingdom, smaller than his father's before him, and he tries to do so peacefully. However with the recent spread of Christianity he is having a hard time keeping the peace. He has been forced to accept and instill a Church of Christ on his land but it has caused great upheaval. He and Bishop Verger disagree frequently.</p><p>When a young girl is sentenced to death by the Bishop over a minor infraction, her escape leads her to stumble into the midst of a tale; a tale of love, betrayal, passion, fear and magic. She soon finds out she is a part of this story, whether she wants to be or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains:
> 
> Slightly negative Christian overtones  
> Religious talk  
> Abigail in a sewer (gross)

There were things that you did, and things that you didn't do. No, let's rephrase: There were things that you did and things that you didn't do /in front of other people/. Abigail Hobbs still hadn't figured that last part out quite yet. She felt--as mud and grime slipped through her fingers--that maybe she was starting to. Though, truth be told she /had/ been /trying/ to stay out of sight, she just hadn't stayed out of sight enough. She paused in her digging, fingers vibrating, as she heard scuffling overhead, the passing of boots and the meandering of soldiers. She wasn't quite sure how far down--or over?--she had gone, but she knew she was no longer directly under her prison cell. She waited until the noise above her stopped before continuing. 

It was rough, but she knew rough. Her hair was a matted mess, her face was nearly indistinguishable, and she kept swallowing hard and breathing through her nose to try and keep reminders of what /exactly/ she was clawing through away. 

'It's this or death, Abigail,' she thought to herself, 'this or death. You can take a million baths and be clean again, but no amount of washing will put your head back on your shoulders.' Course of action reaffirmed, Abigail's digging resumed with a fury. 'Death is a hefty price to pay for missing church anyway! Who kills someone over that? It's not like I /wasn't/ praying either, I was, just... perhaps, not to their god. Who worships one God anyway? Apparently the kind of person who puts a girl to death for skipping the sermon.' 

Abigail gasped--and then coughed and gagged, terrible idea--as she felt her hand push through and feel air and open space beyond. This was the last barrier. The last disgusting, unmentionable barrier! On the other side of the grime wall lay freedom, life and hopefully fresh air. She dug away for a few more moments until she leaned forward and pushed all of her weight against the wall. She could feel it shiver and try to give, but it was too solid still. Quickly she began digging away at the bottom of the wall to create a weakness in the filth. Digging her heels into the ground beneath her she pressed her shoulder and surged against the wall once more.

The wall broke apart, and it was far too late for Abigail to brace herself against falling down into the water below. She toppled head over heels and plunged into warm water. Gasping as she flailed to the surface she smiled, dirt still dripping off her face, clinging to her hair.

"Thank you Goddess." She said out loud, reaching up to run a hand over her face. It smeared more than it actually cleaned. "I owe you, for that, I really do." She took a second to look around and saw only one way to swim. Glancing back up at the way she came--and feeling a push of something like hope--she began swimming down the canal in the only direction she could. 

"Though, to be fair, you are kind of responsible for getting me into this mess in the first place. But! I'm not here to place blame, Goddess, I'm just... stating the facts. We can work out the details once I get out of this water and onto dry, non-celled in land."

\---

"And you don't think this is all a bit much for one girl?" King Gawain sighed, resting his chin on his hand. The sun was out but a nice breeze kept the temperature mild. Young children played in the courtyard, men and women strung instruments and sang and danced. It was a beautiful day and Gawain would have much rather been enjoying it than listening to Bishop Verger regale him with stories about some evil heathen child. 

"I do not, certainly not." The Bishop cooed, sounding almost offended. He followed the King's gaze out to the courtyard and frowned. "Think about them, my liege. Think about what a horrible girl like this could impress upon them. She could easily lead them astray, make them turn from the Church, make them folly and sin. If we give in to this girl, we let Satan into our midst. Certainly you don't want to risk the souls of your people like that?"

"Certainly not." Gawain said sharply, narrowing his eyes at the bishop. "I am simply not sure if I agree with your sentencing. Death? Over one missed sermon?"

"Oh it was more than that, your grace, much more. We found heathen idols and fetishes in this young girl's possession. Dolls to mimic the bodies of others so that she may wreak havoc upon them, herbs of a highly toxic nature easily slipped into an unknowing man's drink. She was praying to a Goddess when we pulled her from the thicket."

"I might pray to a Goddess too, Bishop Verger, were I being bodily removed from a sanctuary." 

"You are a Christian King, sire, do not let such words reach the ears of your people. I know you jest, but they are but God-fearing, good willed, uneducated souls. They may not see the humor in your voice."

"Oddly enough, neither do I." Gawain sighed and stood. His two guards moved forward slightly but the Bishop maintained his distance. "I suppose there will be no persuading you otherwise. I give you leave to send some of my men after her, a small contingent. This is not to be a full scale search, you hear? I do not want my good soldiers traipsing about my lands, turning over every rock and log to find this girl. They--like you I would assume--have better things to do with their time."

"Of course, King Gawain, of course." The Bishop purred, bowing respectfully. Gawain frowned at the bowing of Verger's head, and walked by with his guards flanking.

Bishop Verger stood slowly, watching the king move away from him. He could hear the Captain of the Guard shifting behind him. The Captain which resided entirely in Verger's pocket, a far cry from the table of the King. He turned and met her eyes, clear as she wore no helm. Verger was certainly not a fan of women in ranks such as that, but the woman was entirely in his hand and so he did not complain. His foothold in Gawain's land was still fresh, he needed all the traction he could get.

"Gather your men, the best of them. Pack well. I do not care how long it takes you will find this girl. You will find her and bring her back so that she may be made an example for any who stray from the path of our Lord."

"Yes, sir." Captain Alana saluted, bowing deeply. She turned on her heel and excused herself from the courtyard. 

Bishop Verger sighed heavily as the king knelt to speak with a young girl. He shook his head as the tot placed a ring of flowers on Gawain's head in lieu of a crown. Disrespectful. Verger shuddered to think what things these people could get away with, were King Gawain left to his own devices. He glanced skyward briefly and thanked God for sending him when he had. The kingdom had great need of the Lord, and who better to bring it to them than Bishop Verger. He just prayed he could reach them in time.


	2. two

Abigail smiled, feeling finally clean, as she stared up into the sunlight beaming down at her through a grate. She was wet--she'd been swimming for no less than an hour, based on how slowly everything seemed to be moving, it wasn't an exact count of course but that's what it felt like--but she was alive. There was no more freeing thought than that. The water had slipped to be only waist-deep, which was still far too deep to be comfortable but at least it didn't require any more swimming. It had also cleaned up quite a bit, taking a few turns had obviously taken her out of the path of the filth from the prison. This was another thing that brightened her spirits considerably.

She wished she could reach the grates above her, but knew it would be impossible. She spent a few more moments, breathing deeply and lingering in the sun, before moving onward. The stone walls suddenly became broader, sturdier, and Abigail began to suspect she knew where she was under the city above. She took a sharp left, into colder waters, and followed the corridor up. Near the end of the hall she could see a light beaming down through another set of grates, and this grate--this grate she could imagine herself reaching.

She darted forward and glanced upwards. It was the light of a well-lit room and not the sun which beat down upon her, but it was welcome light none-the-less. The grate was in a much smaller section of the canal, not in open ceiling, more like the roof of a small tower. Smiling at her luck, Abigail began to shimmy up the wall, bracing herself with legs and arms spread like a spider.

"'It isn't proper for girls to climb, Abigail.' 'It's not good for girls to get so dirty, Abigail.' 'Ladies don't wear pants, Abigail.' Well, I'm glad I didn't listen to any of you. I'm sure if you were still alive, you'd think the same thing. Maybe there is something to be said about the wisdom of youth." Abigail chattered quietly to herself, working her way up towards the grate. 

She reached up and wrapped her fingers around the bars, pulling herself up easier the rest of the way until her head tilted against the bars. She tried to peer in to the well lit room, but could only see so much. Towering columns, beautiful candle holders, some heraldry of some sort draped on the wall, and a number of robed figures.

"You've got quite the sense of humor, My Lady." Abigail sighed, realizing she was directly underneath the Church of Christ. "You're very funny. I should appreciate your humor more often, maybe then you wouldn't see fit to make me the butt of so many of your jokes." With a heavy sigh Abigail slipped back down the wall, dropping into the cold water with a hiss.

By the time her limbs were mostly numb, by the time she was starting to think she would either have to risk the church or die like a rat, Abigail felt a breeze over the water. She lifted her weary head as the breeze floated across her cheeks. It didn't smell like sewer or muck or green globs of algae, it smelled like the wheat fields outside the city, it smelled like log fires and open skies. 

Abigail surged forward, putting far too much energy into slogging through the water, arms pumping at her sides as if it would help. After only a moment the water began to get deeper and the floor beneath her began to bend further away. Abigail turned a corner and found herself wading in water at the end of the canal. There were no more paths to take, no more tunnels to try. Gasping as she tried to hold back tears Abigail looked up. She could see--feet and feet and far too many feet above her to think about climbing--the night sky. A few broken pieces of stone had fallen to reveal her freedom, just out of reach.

She lifted her hands and slapped them against the water. She did it again and again as she swam slowly in a circle, considering her options. She had no options. She moved towards the wall and pressed her hands to it, attempting to rest for a second and get some kind of plan together. As she moved towards the wall her feet slipped through it towards a heavy current on the other side. She paused, she kicked her feet around for a moment before taking a quick breath and diving. Though the water was murky and though it didn't feel good on her eyes, she opened them to study what was before her. It was a hole in the wall, a large hole. It led to fresher water with a fast current, clearly heading towards some kind of an out. 

Abigail lifted her head and took in a quick breath, looking back behind her. She now had options. She could go back the way she came and try another path--which was dangerous because the more time she spent under the city the more likely she would be caught. She could try to sneak out through the church---which was stupid because that was where her crime was committed (or where it was felt, at least) and they sure as hell were looking for her. She could take a deep breath and swim through the hole--which was risky as she didn't know how strong the current was, how deep the water was, or how long she might be forced to hold her breath.

"Goddess, I have never been a... gambling woman. It's far too easy to cheat a bet and I cheat a lot... but, I'm going to bet now and I'm in no position to cheat. So, if you could perhaps, find it in yourself to give me your good graces, I promise to do something nice for you. Perhaps I'll forgive you for setting me up earlier, that sounds fair right? I'll... sacrifice a goat, or something too, just to sweeten the pot. Just--please, don't let me drown after all this."

Abigail pressed her forehead to the wall. She took a number of deep breaths, then one last gulp of air and she sunk down. She pushed herself through the hole and was immediately taken by the current. She attempted to keep calm, keep her heart rate down to last as long as she could on the burning oxygen in her lungs. She tried not to fight the current--knowing it had to come out somewhere--but as the seconds ticked by she felt panic in her gut. It was said that no one had ever escaped this dungeon, and maybe this was why. Maybe she, like so many before her, had taken a plunge instead of looking for a better way out. She had sent herself to the executioner anyway. Her Goddess was either laughing at the irony, or shaking her head at how foolish Abigail had been. Either way it wasn't going to affect the Goddess much!

Abigail felt herself suddenly free falling, open air slicing at her arm, her shoulder, the top of her head, and then the warm embrace of water once more. Trying to right herself she quickly realized the current had stopped. She broke the surface with a gasp she tried to keep quiet, but breathing in cool, free night air was almost cause for a song of praise. She loosed her long hair to wash clean in the water and spun to gain her barrings. She was outside the city, a good distance outside the city. She could see the cobble stone bridge to her left, open fields behind her, the road in front of her and the long trenches of a calm river to her right. 

"Oooh are you going to get a big goat. Two! Maybe a cow, even! We'll have to see what I can get my hands on." Abigail whispered, turning to swim away from the city, towards freedom. "I'll slaughter you something new every week, if that's what it takes to keep my luck up." She giggled and sucked in a mouthful of water before spitting it against the starry sky. Letting out another soft laugh she threw herself into swimming as far as possible before knowing she would have to drag herself onto the land.


	3. three

Abigail wanted to get as far away from King Gawain's city as possible. She'd always heard people talk about how he was a good king, all things considered. She had believed it, once. However any king who would willingly bow to the authority of a religious man over the fate of a young girl was not a good king. She didn't expect any protection from him and so she did the only thing she knew she could to save her skin... she walked.

And she walked.

And she walked.

And then, just to change things up, she walked some more.

She felt like she walked around the whole world, at least once. Her feet were sore as her tattered shoes were threadbare before she'd even escaped the prison. She was bruised, hungry and tired since sleeping outside was decidedly more frightening than sleeping in a prison. When smoke in the air signaled a village nearby, Abigail felt as if her Goddess had finally remembered her. She didn't hold it against the deity, however, because she assumed the Goddess had a lot on her plate. Honestly she just considered herself insanely blessed that she'd not only escaped prison, escaped death, but managed to survive on nothing long enough to find sanctuary.

She had to be far enough away that people wouldn't know to look for her, at the very least.

As she trudged closer she came upon a row of farm houses, far enough away for privacy in slaughtering livestock, but close enough for the protection of the village. She kept herself off the main road, but visible enough. She didn't want anyone thinking she was sneaking around, if she acted like she knew what she was doing she'd blend in a lot easier than if she tried to keep hidden. She lifted her eyebrows in excitement as a clothes line hung in the distance, various articles of clothing draped to dry in the sun. She made a few good studies of the area and saw only two very, very young children in eye shot of the clothes line. Her mind was made up by the time she approached.

"Good 'morrow!" Chirped one of the children, oh so very young. Young and impressionable.

"Good 'morrow," Abigail smiled back, then gasped and pointed towards the farm house. "Oh! What is that!"

Both children turned eagerly. Their heads bobbed side to side as they attempted to see whatever it was that Abigail had seen. She quickly pulled two large items off the line--knowing she didn't have time to identify what they were, or even if they would fit--and grabbed a pair of boots resting upside down under the line. She stuffed the clothing under her shirt and shoved the boots behind her back just as the children turned back around.

"There isn't anything there."

"Of course not. You must have scared it away, it ran around the house. If you hurry, you might catch it!"

The children seemed skeptical, but were equally curious. They turned to continue looking for the creature from their seats as Abigail sauntered towards the village. She took a path between two farmhouses, closer to the main road, and slipped on the boots as she walked. They were a touch big, but she had gotten lucky and she wasn't about to complain. They felt better on her feet than her ragged shoes--which she left on for more padding. She unfolded the clothes that she had taken and was pleased to find a cream tunic with long sleeves and a green cloak. The tunic would be much too large, but it was warm and the cloak could help her blend in. Pulling on the clothing she stepped into the village.

It was busy enough that she felt concealed but not crowded enough to feel pressed in. To describe it in a word, she felt it was perfect. Strolling casually through the streets, taking stock of the locals, Abigail could almost picture herself living there. She could work someplace quiet--she had no professional skills outside of cheating at cards though, that would have to change--for a nice pay--she didn't like working long hours though, so maybe light, non-manual work--and eventually she'd.... marry rich? Though, looking around with that specific thought in mind there didn't seem to be many eligible bachelors: of any particular income.

Her nose and growling stomach led her to a nice little tavern with a small outdoor patio. It was quite lovely, so she deduced at least some people in the village had money--or the means of constructing beautiful things. There was a light crowd, chattering enough to provide a nice ambiance. She frowned as she reached for her pockets because she had no pockets and she had no money. Her stomach growled again and she scanned the crowd closer. There was a small group of men playing cards. Her eyes lit up. She made a casual dash towards the table, grabbing an unused stool and dropping it at the end of the table. She ignored the indignant looks as she sat down.

"Deal me in." She smirked, tapping the table. She looked up and felt a small shudder pass through her as she was met with six very gruff, very unhappy faces. Eventually one of them smiled.

"I like your guts, girl." He chuckled, and dealt seven hands. Abigail smugly picked up her cards, a decent hand and a good place to start.

"Where'd a girl like you learn how to play cards?"

"My father." Abigail lied instantly, well. She kept her face passive. "He taught me cards, among other things."

"Unusual things to teach a girl, I'm sure."

"Oh, my father was quite unusual. He prided himself on his particular brand of uniqueness. Landed him in prison though, terrible thing. I'll always keep his lessons close to my heart." Abigail clutched the cards to her breast, sighing dramatically. A few of the men chuckled, a few were not impressed.

"You new around here? You don't look familiar. Think I would've remembered a pretty young face that could play cards."

Abigail bloomed. Her one weakness... compliments. And not sexual or derogatory ones. He sounded almost legitimately impressed. Abigail couldn't help it, she felt she was far enough away from the castle. She leaned forward, happy to see a few of the men catch on and do the same.

"Actually, I'm from pretty far from here. Would you like to hear a story?" She grinned. "You've heard of the dungeons of Camelot, yes? Impossible to escape. Improbable to survive for any length of time, those dungeons?" She watched as a few of the men nodded. "Well, they keep those scheduled for death in a secret chamber, fully guarded under tight lock and key day and night. Impossible to escape is an understatement." Abigail rolled up the right sleeve on her shirt. She slowly unwrapped her arm to reveal a nasty burn--a brand. A few of the men looked at each other in disbelief.

"You're playing cards with the only person to have ever escaped from those dungeons with their life."

"Are they?"

Abigail felt suddenly cold. She and her card playing companions turned to glance at the table behind them. Five cloaked men sat there, quietly enjoying a meal, unbothered by the chatter around them until just then. A woman at the head of the table turned to face Abigail, pulling down her hood.

"Goddess damn it..." Abigail whispered, recognizing the face of Captain Alana Bloom. The girl swallowed hard.

"You led us on a good chase, girl, but your time is up. Surrender without a fuss and I'll plead your case for a quick death to the Bishop. Right now he wants to cook you alive."

"I'd hardly make a good meal." Abigail whined, holding up her arms. "I'm skin and bones."

With that Abigail quickly slipped her over large tunic over her head and tossed it at Alana. In the commotion she jumped onto the table and pulled herself into the open lattice roof of the patio. The card players did not move to stop her, nor did they move to help, and suddenly the whole place was in an uproar. As Alana pulled herself free of the cloth her men gave chase. They were careful with their swords--as they were instructed to bring Abigail in alive if at all possible--but they weren't holding back entirely, alive didn't mean uninjured.

Abigail darted through the vine strangled lattice as quickly as she could, but dodging swords thrust up at her feet made it decidedly more difficult. Reaching the end before the guards she leapt down and took off into the streets. She had a head start and without encumbering armor she was much faster. She felt like she was home free until she glanced over her shoulder. Her forward momentum was stopped painfully and suddenly as she ran chest first into something. She hit the ground gasping, trying to fill her lungs with all the air they had just expelled. As she rolled to her side and glanced up she saw Captain Alana lowering her arm.

"This was cute, but it's over." Alana sighed, kneeling and grabbing Abigail's collar. She stood, pulling Abigail with her. "Your little vacation is over. It's time we returned you to Camelot, and the executioner, where you belong."

"Always the way of women to be chained up under men, huh?" Abigail gasped. "Not you though. Funny how that worked out. How many men were you /not/ chained under before you landed this job?"

Alana's eyes flashed briefly and then Abigail found her back uncomfortably intimate with a building behind her. She grunted as Alana lifted her clean off her feet, holding her to the wall with one arm. Under Abigail's wide eyes Alana removed a small dagger from her belt.

"It's a shame you won't make it back alive. I'm sure the Bishop will understand."

As Abigail prepared herself for the sharp end of a blade, she and Alana both were surprised by the whistle of an arrow. Alana turned her head just in time for the arrow to zip by, grazing her nose. Abigail slid quickly to the ground as Alana recoiled, hand clutching at her bleeding nose. Abigail scrambled to her feet and moved her eyes to the end of the road for the archer, desperately hoping it was not a bandit intent on killing her next. However she did quickly admit it would be damned ironic. What she found was a little hard to swallow at first. A man dressed in brown sat atop a beautiful specimen of a horse, black as tar. They made an intimidating impression, the horse with it's ebony stare and the man with his wild intent. His hair was long, shaggy but mostly pulled back. The glimpse of his face visible under an uneven curtain of bangs was high cheeked and sharp. His lip was sneered up slightly, matching the expression his horse wore with it's ears pinned back. He slowly lifted the crossbow from where he had it pointed. The horse snorted.

"Captain Tristan." Captain Alana growled, moving to her feet with her face covered in blood. She merely turned her head to watch as Tristan waved Abigail forward and the girl took off running. "I'm surprised you'd dare show your face this close to Camelot, after your absolutely disgraceful exit."

"I suppose my grace could have easily been misconstrued, depending on whom you were kneeling in front of."

Abigail could not help but smirk at another vaguely veiled sexual innuendo. She slowed as she neared the gigantic horse, she glanced up and Tristan glanced down at her. She was momentarily taken aback by his thin lips and maroon eyes.

"Thank you." She said quietly. He nodded.

"Easy for you to say. Rumor has it you do a fair amount of kneeling yourself." Alana continued, her voice pure venom.

She sounded a bit more confident as her men drew in closer, coming in at Tristan's left. The rider glanced over at them and then down at Abigail. He shifted and handed his crossbow down to her. He then tilted his head to indicate the road out of the village.

"Go."

Abigail did not need to be told twice. Clutching the large weapon to her chest she took off. Behind her Tristan dismounted and pulled a powerful sword from its sheath. He watched Captain Alana straighten and roll her shoulders. It was her men that made the first move.

Goliath reared up and kicked his hooves out at the air, easily connecting with one of the guardsmen and taking him down like a bolt of lightning. Tristan was not sure if he would ever get up. His companion rushed haphazardly forward, swinging his blade above his head. It didn't take a very calculated strategy to block his blow and slam a pommel into the back of his neck. He went down hard, but Tristan knew he would rise in a few moments. These men had once fought under his command and he was in no rush to kill them, in spite their shifting alliances. The second man that came at him was a bit more experienced, his first swing came at Tristan's midsection. With a twirl graceful enough to be a dance step Tristan blocked the blade, arm crossed behind his back. He kicked out and down, catching the man's thigh right above his knee. The blow was enough to knock him off balance and take him down. Tristan lifted his sword and thrust it down into the man's left and non-dominant shoulder. The soldiers shout was echoed by Alana's voice as she called her men off.

"This is insane, Tristan. You're already an outcast, already a pariah, why go so far as to put yourself on the wanted list? King Gawain will want your head for this."

"King Gawain is a good man under a thick collar. You know as well as I, Alana, that he is being forced into a corner. He is not the man he used to be and it is through no fault of his own. If he wants my head it will be because he wishes he could do what I have done."

"That's blasphemy. That's close to treason."

"Then add traitor to my vast number of titles. I care little for what you and your men call me while preening in your ivory towers."

Alana rushed forward. Tristan braced himself, knowing how formidable a fighter Alana could be. He was prepared and nearly eager for a long combat, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Alana's men turning towards the girl. Tristan cursed under his breath as he met the first of Alana's swings. He had to end this quickly or the guardsmen would mount up and tear the girl down. Tristan had heard about her and he was in no rush to see her slain; he needed her. He side stepped and leaned, feeling the breath of Alana's blade on his arm. He returned the swing and recoiled slightly at the parry. He could not end this quickly blade-to-blade she was too skilled a fighter. He would need to play dirty; luckily his exile had taught him how to do just that.

Tristan spun out of the way of a powerful downswing. He feigned and almost fall and grabbed the line of a bucket in a well. He swung the bucket hard and listened with satisfaction as it hit and showered Alana with water. She went down hard, and losing her footing she began to tumble down a short hill. He could see her scrambling to get a hold and stop her momentum, but it gave him all the time he would need. He turned and whistled, running forward as Goliath turned to him. He mounted in one swift movement and guided his stallion to turn.

He took off down the dirt road and easily surpassed the newly mounted guardsmen. In the near distance he could see Abigail, weaving in and out of what she hoped would be obstacles--she obviously did not understand the nature of horse movement. Tristan urged Goliath forward faster, riding the pounding of powerful hooves. He saw Abigail--who had discarded his crossbow, aggravatingly enough--glance over her shoulder and double her pace in fear. Tristan appeared to be running her down, which was honestly not far from the truth. He quickly pulled Goliath to the girl's side and leaned in his saddle. Ignoring her scream Tristan pulled the girl to lay across his lap in the saddle.

He considered apologizing for the bumpy ride--knowing being laid across the saddle was hardly an ideal place to ride--but he figured she might deserve a little bruising for being so cheeky. He guided Goliath far into the distance with enough of a head start that Alana and her men would be hopeless to track them this day. He couldn't help the smallest of smirks at Abigail's interrupted shouts and pleads for him to stop so she could right herself.


	4. four

Tristan lifted his gaze as a fleeting shadow overhead signaled the return of his hawk. His smile was soft as he lifted his arm and the bird swooped in to land. The weight was familiar and welcome. He reached up and stroked the back of his knuckles along the hawk's chest. It dipped it's head down and pulled gently at his glove as if preening feathers Tristan did not have. The man sighed and looked away.

"We'll need to camp for the night, let Goliath rest." Tristan said as he glanced up through the forest canopy at the darkening sky. Beside him he was unaware of Abigail's incredulous look as she stumbled again over her own two feet.

"Oh of course. I'm sure /he/ needs plenty of rest." Abigail's expression soured further as Tristan chuckled at her expense.

"Mouse is your nickname, what's your real name?"

"I told you, call me Mouse. I don't like giving my name out to burly men who throw me over horses."

"You've experience being kidnapped?" Tristan turned to glance down at her, a braid loosing from his hair tie and falling into his face. She scowled up at him.

"Actually no, you'd be the first burly man to throw me over a horse."

"Should this be a high honor, then? Should I add it among my achievements?"

Abigail stopped walking and crossed her arms over her chest. Tristan looked down at her and then threw his head back to laugh again, never stopping Goliath's slow steps.

"I know I owe you my life and all," Abigail called as she trotted to catch up, "but I do have other things I could be doing right now. How long do you intend to keep me around as your gopher?"

"Other things? What other things could a wanted runaway like you be doing?"

"Working on getting my life back together. Developing well honed trade skills so I can find a job and make an honest living. Marrying rich!"

"You'll hardly find any rich bachelors out this way, Mouse." Tristan grinned. He pulled Goliath to a stop and scanned the wooded area below them. Abigail sighed and reached out to put a hand on his saddle, catching her breath. Tristan glanced down at her. The hawk on his arm made a soft noise, stretching his wings.

"You escaped the dungeons of Camelot, that's quite a feat. I have no intention of reducing so capable a mouse to the status of house pet. You're not under my leash."

"I'm... not?"

"Of course not. You're free, have been since you crawled out of the dungeon." Tristan smirked a little, eyebrows lifting. He watched Abigail step away from his horse, smiling and nodding.

"Right, then!" She turned, took a few steps and then paused. Tristan watched her, grinning all the while. She turned in almost a full circle, glanced up at the sky, an then cautiously back over to Tristan. "Although, it's a bit of a walk to the next village and I could perhaps use some company. I get bored easily, and I'm sure you and Goliath could use a-an extra hand setting up camp."

"That we could." Tristan nodded, watching Abigail's eyes move to the hawk on his arm. He felt a strange sensation in his gut and urged Goliath forward.

"I've never met a falconer before." Abigail grunted, attempting to dismount the hill with the same grace Goliath had.

"He's a hawk." Tristan snapped, voice rough.

"Oh, my mistake. Still, I've never been around anyone who could handle a wild bird like that. He just... flies off and comes back to you?"

"Yes." Tristan glanced to the bird, golden eyes focused on the forest. "He does."

"Must be some kind of bond you two have, then. I think if I had wings, if I had freedom, I'd lose all ties and just give myself to the direction of the wind. I'd go where ever the breeze took me."

"You'd be a very lonely bird." Tristan said, a little more humor in his voice. "He trusts me, I trust him. We need each other. He will always come back to me."

Abigail slipped and sighed, laying for a moment in the mud.

"You don't want to camp here, Mouse. Bigger predators than hawks in these woods."

"Bears?" Abigail hissed, quickly rising to her feet and catching up with her companions. "I saw a bear once when I was a little girl. Horrible thing, smelled like a warm shithouse." She glanced up as Tristan laughed, shifting the hawk enough to make it vocalize it's displeasure.

"That's a very adequate description. A warm shithouse." Tristan shook his head. "You're a funny one."

"So I've been told. It's just another one of my many skills. You see, I like being alive, and so I've honed particular aspects of who I am to strive towards that goal. There's not a situation I can't handle. Not a death trap I can't wiggle out of. Not a threat I can't--"

"Shh!" Tristan hissed, stiffening and straightening up in his saddle. Abigail quickly obeyed, moving forward to grab hold of his saddle once more. Tristan's hand slowly moved towards his sword, his attention split between what he thought he heard in the distance and the hawk's attention so raptly in that direction. He felt Abigail's nerves pounding through the leather of the saddle. He glanced down at her and motioned her to back up a few paces. As she complied Tristan carefully swung himself off Goliath, the shifting upsetting his hawk. The bird settled itself down on a nearby branch, but turned its head instantly back in the direction of the sound.

"What is it?" Abigail hissed, leaning in towards Tristan.

"Voices, I think. The hawk hears it too."

"Bandits?"

Tristan replied with a shrug, holding a finger up to his mouth. He watched Abigail nod in compliance. He motioned for Goliath to stay put and started forward slowly. He was not attempting to hide, per say, but like Abigail was not entirely attempting to stand out either. A good straddle between wanting to sneak up on a potential enemy, but not appear like one yourself. Abigail started after him, then thought better of it and moved back until her shoulder bumped the branch the hawk had settled on. She glanced worriedly over her shoulder as the bird took a few steps towards her, curious. She moved away from the branch towards Goliath.

Tristan stalked forward slowly, hand ready on his blade though he did not draw it. The voices became clearer as he moved over exposed roots, and he found himself relaxing considerably. He could smell a long burning fire, hay from a stable, the waste of livestock and the sweetness of a hearth cooking bread. It was not unusual to find small families living free of villages, maintaining their own with only what nature provided them. Tristan stood to his full height and attempted to make a slightly more obvious approach.

He saw evidence of his thoughts just moments later, a small house and barn out in a semi-cleared area ahead of him. He could see a tall man working to keep a large fire going under a pig on a spit. Two tall boys--still children despite their imposing forms--throwing rocks at each other near the barn, and a short, stout little woman tending to a line of clothes. Tristan moved into the full light through the canopy and raised a hand. He watched the man at the fire catch sight of him.

"Good eve." Tristan started, making sure both his hands were visible. The man a the fire seemed clearly startled, the woman let out a small noise and instantly waved at the boys to come to her. "I mean you no harm, I apologize if I've startled you." Tristan continued forward slowly, watching the man carefully for signs that he needed to back off. They seemed frightened, but not altogether unwilling to listen. "My friend and I are fairly lost, and do not wish to travel any further as night is approaching. Might we burden you to stay for the evening? I will gladly pay for your hospitality."

Tristan watched as the man turned to look at his wife and their sons. The wife's expression was hard to read, but Tristan did not like the looks shared by the boys to their father. There was something sinister between them, but Tristan could not deduce what. The woman did seem a touch more nervous, and then the nervous energy became almost excited energy. She nodded frantically and the man turned to face Tristan. He nodded slowly.

"You-you can sleep in the barn."

"Thank you." Tristan said, lowering his arms at last and nodding the way he'd come. "I will go get my friend and my horse. You have our thanks."


	5. five

Abigail frowned through Tristan's list of instructions for the evening. She wasn't sure if he was treating her like a child or like a soldier, and she wasn't sure which was worse as she was clearly neither. He wanted her to prep a fire for them, he wanted her to secure his horse, he wanted her to not try and wake him no matter what. She sighed heavily.

"Why?"

"Hmm?"

"You're really insistent that I let you sleep, no matter what. You keep harping on it, 'no matter what'. Why?"

"I'm liable to bite your face off if you wake me. Soldier training; I don't like to be surprised." Tristan turned to look at Abigail. She recoiled a bit at just how sincere he looked. His expression was instantly softened by the call of his hawk as it returned. 

Abigail watched as he extended his arm and the hawk landed gracefully on it's perch. She watched as Tristan brushed his knuckles over the bird's chest. She watched how the man's maroon eyes moved up as if to catch the bird's gaze, hold it, speak to it through that shared connection. She noticed a strange shaking in his hand, as if he wanted to suddenly clutch the bird to his chest.

"That's a beautiful hawk." Abigail pressed curiously, leaning against the stall half-door. Goliath snorted from the other side. Tristan did not take his eyes from the bird.

"Indeed he is." He whispered reverently.

"How did you get him?" This question caused Tristan to pause slightly. Abigail watched a smile of despair cross the man's face.

"Luck or the blessing of some passing God. He saw that I was lonely and missing something. He saw that I was broken and so he sent me... he sent me salvation. He sent me love." Tristan reached up and ran two fingers along the back of the hawk's head. The bird seemed only slightly put out. 

'It's a bird,' Abigail thought to herself, but knew she'd probably be run through for such a comment.

"Have you had him long, then? I imagine you'd have to, in order for him to keep coming back to you."

"I don't have him, he has me." 

'Oook.' Abigail's inner monologue hissed. 'He is very into his bird. It's more than a little strange. It's just a bird.'

"Well, I'd better go gather firewood. We don't have much sunlight left and I really don't want to be caught alone out there in the dark."

"Good thinking." Tristan finally moved his eyes down to Abigail. She nodded, eyebrows lifted in a way that clearly said she still thought he was a little crazy. "If uh, I don't come back in a sufficient amount of time you'll come look for me, right?"

"You'll come back." Tristan smiled, a crooked expression. "I have every faith in you." 

"Uh huh..." Abigail shrugged and shoved her hands into her belt, preparing to turn.

"Abigail," her name sounded strange on Tristan's tongue, like he was hiding the hint of an accent, "be careful coming back into camp. I'm not entirely sure I trust these people."

"I'm more worried about what might be out in the forest."

"You shouldn't be."


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:
> 
> Blood  
> Gore  
> Death

"He treats the damned bird better than he treats me." Abigail grumbled, arms full of sticks. "Even if he has known the bird longer, I'm still a person, it's just a dumb bird." She paused as she bent down to pick up another stick, trying not to drop any of the ones already in her arms. "I mean I know you can get attached to a horse or a dog... but a bird?" She shook her head and stumbled, tightening her hold on the sticks. "All it does is shit and fly."

She snapped to attention as the unmistakable howl of a wolf broke the night air. She glanced up and with a bolt of fear realized she'd been out far too long, the sun was set and though the moon was full she was now alone in the dark. Even though her eyes had adjusted to the dim light under the canopy, the knowledge that night had come still made her quake.

The wolf howled again. Abigail heard a crunching noise--like feet or paws--in the dry leaves behind her. She dropped the bundle of sticks. She heard another crunch from the other side and took off.

"Oooh I'm late for dinner! My dad's going to kill me, just like he killed all those bandits who broke into our house!" Abigail shouted breathlessly as she ran, hearing the crunching following her and picking up speed. "All eighteen of them! Or was it nineteen? Everything happened so fast I just can't remember! But he killed 'em all, really dead, I remember that! He'll be out looking for me I bet!"

Abigail stumbled and fell into the clearing. Behind her she heard a pair of big feet do the same thing. She turned and managed to roll out of the way as one of the farmer's sons fell to the ground where she'd just been. Her eyes grew wide. His brother stepped out of the woods, eyes on Abigail.

'Shit. Shit!' Abigail quickly lunged to her feet, barely dodging as the downed brother reached for her ankles. She kicked out at him and made a dash for the barn. Tristan had told her not to wake him under any circumstances but surely her life being in danger would be an exception. Worst case scenario she'd claim the hawk was in danger, that'd wake him up.

She let out a curse as she tripped again and stumbled to her side. One of the brothers was immediately on her, longer legs be damned. Abigail rolled to her side as the boy sat on her legs and tried to grab her arms. She flailed to the best of her ability, trying to think of a way out that didn't involve her death. She saw the other brother looming just behind, a grin she did not like on his face. Her hand brushed a rock and she immediately picked it up.

Two things happened so simultaneously it was as if they were properly planned and coordinated. Abigail would not have believed they had occurred had she not seen it with her own eyes. She swung the rock up and smashed it against a head, knocking the boy off balance. A gigantic ghost of a wolf leapt out of the darkness and snapped it's jaws almost onto the other brother's arm. The snap knocked him sideways where he toppled into his brother and knocked them both away from Abigail. As she stared the wolf stalked forward. She darted to her feet as the canine launched at the boys.

"Tristan! Sir Tristan!" She shrieked, not daring to look back as she heard the sound of gurgled screams and ripping flesh. "Sir it's a wolf! A mad wolf!" She knew the beast had to be hot on her trail. She would face whatever punishment Tristan had to throw at her rather than risk dying of the water sickness. She slipped into the barn and only barely managed to keep her feet under her. Out of breath she began banging on the stall door.

"Tristan! Sir Tristan!" She moved to unlatch the lock when she heard a deep, rumbling growl. It was too close, it was far too close.

She turned slowly and swallowed hard, her eyes wide. The wolf stood at the other end of the barn. Its head was down, its ears up, its muzzle covered in blood. 'It had to be white,' she thought to herself, 'all the better to stain you with'. She took a slow single step backwards. The wolf took a slow single step forward. Abigail was not proud of the noise she made.

"Sir Tristan." She whispered in a fevered pitch. "Please!"

She stepped back and the wolf followed. She saw her life flash before her eyes and had the distinct thought that it was a shame it was a short life. She shut her eyes, whimpered... and heard the lock on the stall door unlatch. She quickly opened her eyes and found herself taken aback.

She had expected to see Tristan--of course--perhaps dressed down, a little sleepy, but Tristan all the same. The figure that stepped out of the stall was not Tristan. He appeared to be about the same height, but his skin was pale and annoyingly perfect. Tristan had scars and color and blemishes and all the trappings of a man who actually lived out in the world--who did things and saw things and killed people--this man had skin like porcelain, like a flower. Not even the dark stubble around his chin could make him look any rougher. His hair was shorter than Tristan's, darker and a wild mess of curls. His eyes were blue like a lake in the middle of summer. He glanced at Abigail calmly, pulling Tristan's cloak just a little tighter around his bare shoulders.

Abigail lifted her hand slowly and pointed.

"T-there's a wolf."

"I know." The man said, something like a smile on his face. He turned and took a few slow steps towards the wolf. The beast lifted its head, then lowered it and pinned its ears back, tail starting to wag slowly. Abigail took in a sharp breath and immediately launched herself through the open stall door. She quickly scrambled up the ladder to the loft and pressed herself to the wall. She waited to hear the sounds of screaming, of angry growling and teeth gnashing on flesh... but she heard nothing. She held her breath for another few seconds then slowly let it out. Against her better judgement she slowly crawled towards the end of the loft. She steeled her stomach and glanced down.

The wolf was looking up at the man, leading him slowly and carefully back the way it had come. It almost seemed eager to stare at the man's face as long as it could, looking away only when absolutely necessary. Eventually it led him to the bodies of the two boys--whom Abigail could only see a little of, thank the Goddess--where the man knelt down. The wolf sat eagerly next to him.

"Oh, oh sweet Goddess, oh wonderful... wonderful kind and all knowing beautiful Goddess." Abigail whispered. "Don't do this to me. Don't, I beg you. I've heard stories about men and mortals crossing with beasts and making pacts with dark Gods. Don't bring me into this. I'm not good for this! I'll only complicate matters, I promise. Find another poor wretch to make deals with warlocks and dark things. I'm going to settle down and marry a rich man! We'll name our children after you!" Abigail covered her face. "Don't set me up with unnatural creatures and magic!"


End file.
